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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135261">who broke down crying, naked and trembling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi'>ruffboi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abortion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Parent/Child Incest, Protective Bobby Singer, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Verbal Abuse, Victim Blaming, Young Sam Winchester, and Dean gets her the fuck out, and then make it worse, escaping abuse, girl Sam Winchester, he's barely in it but he's VERY GOOD, in which Sam works up the nerve to tell Dean what John's doing to her, no beta we die like every woman or minority in spn, the victim blaming is by the abuser not anyone else</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:01:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Winchester is 16 years old, the bottle-blonde perfect picture of a Good Midwestern Girl Next Door. Nobody realizes what pain and terror she's hiding behind her sugar-sweet smile. Not even Dean. Nobody knows what her father does to her when they're alone.</p><p>Until she needs Dean's help to deal with one of the consequences, and she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and hope like hell he believes her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>who broke down crying, naked and trembling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please read the tags before reading this fic. If you don't think you can read this without harming or upsetting yourself, please click back. I have written this solely as fictional entertainment and in no way condone abuse of any sort. I feel like I shouldn't have to say that but I'm just gonna cover my ass on it.</p><p>The back button exists for a reason. If you need to, <i>please</i> use it.</p><p>All thanks and love and credit to my wonderful partner <a href="http://storyinmypocket.tumblr.com">Jack</a>/<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/storyinmypocket">storyinmypocket</a>, for building the AU that this fic was based on with me, and giving me the thumbs up to post this even though I wrote this solo. I definitely took some dialogue direction for Dean from their thoughts and input. They are one of the greatest lights of my life, and I would be bereft without them.</p><p>Title is taken (and tweaked) from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Samantha Winchester was 16 years old, and she had a very big problem.</p><p>You wouldn't think it to look at her; she wore her long, bottle-blonde hair loose and wavy, her jeans were modestly cut and free of holes, her blouse and minimal makeup making her look like everyone's sweetest ideal of the girl next door. You wouldn't think it to know her from school, either, given that her teachers would say she was quiet and reserved, but attentive in class and very intelligent. She didn't really have any friends, but she got good grades, and didn't skip classes, and managed to be just average enough not to get bullied.</p><p>She was, on the surface, the kind of girl who didn't <em>have </em>very big problems. But no one seemed to realize that it was only skin deep. That she was living out of a motel room with her dad and 20-year-old brother, going to school while they hunted monsters, moving around every few weeks. No one noticed the lean muscles under her nice midwestern girl appearance, from her own training and hunts.</p><p>And no one knew about her problem but her. And, as soon as he showed up to pick her up and drive her back to the motel, her brother.</p><p>"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called as he pulled up to the curb where he'd kept her waiting about twenty minutes after school ended. "Sorry I'm late, got stuck on research duty for this one, had to finish up and call the info in to Dad."</p><p>"It's fine," Sam said as she slid into the Impala, her backpack at her feet. Twisted her fingers together as he pulled out of the school parking lot, one of his obnoxious tapes playing full blast. "Um, I have a favor to ask you," she said, trying to raise her voice above the music.</p><p>She didn't quite manage, and Dean frowned, then turned the music down. "What was that?"</p><p>"I have a favor to ask," she repeated, gaze locked out the window.</p><p>"All right, Sammy, shoot. You need a ride to a big date or something?"</p><p>"No," Sam said. Took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She didn't <em>think</em> Dean would be a dick about this, but... well, he could be protective, and that often showed itself in irritation and anger when she got herself in trouble. "Um, I need you to take me to an abortion clinic? And <em>swear</em> you won't tell Dad, not even a little."</p><p>She was proud of how little her voice shook, considering everything.</p><p>Dean slammed on the brakes and pulled the Impala over to the side of the road so he could twist in the driver's seat and look at her, her eyes dropping to stare at her hands, still twisted nervously in her lap.</p><p>"Say <em>what</em>?"</p>
<hr/><p>It started when she was eleven, and didn't know any better.</p><p>He'd said they needed to make sure that she got her first training bra as soon as she needed it, that it was harder without her mother there to deal with all of it.</p><p>His hands were warm on her bare chest, and she giggled when he ran his fingers along her ribs, tickling her.</p><p>She didn't have any idea what was beginning.</p>
<hr/><p>"You <em>can't</em> tell Dad," Sam repeated, desperately. "Please, Dean, even if you won't take me you <em>can't</em> tell Dad."</p><p>"Of course I'll fucking <em>take</em> you," Dean responded immediately, his face betraying his confusion over her intensity. "Cool your jets, kiddo."</p><p>"And you won't tell Dad?" Sam pressed.</p><p>"I won't tell Dad," Dean agreed. "Pinky promise or whatever you kindergarteners are doing these days."</p><p>Sam rolled her eyes. "Dick."</p><p>"Brat," Dean retorted. "You got a clinic in mind or do I have to drive in circles until I stumble on a guy in a back alley with a trenchcoat and a coat hanger?"</p><p>"That's sexist," Sam declared. "Here, I've got the directions written down..."</p>
<hr/><p>A few days after she turned thirteen, he gave her a box of hair dye and told her she'd look just like her mother if she used it. She used it without hesitation, turning this way and that as she examined her new hair color in the mirror. She couldn't tell if she looked like Mom, not really, but she thought she looked almost pretty.</p><p>Dean was at a party that night. He didn't have a curfew and always made use of that freedom.</p><p>The worst part was that it was the logical progression, when he bent her over the little table and fucked her while she started down at her algebra homework, from what he'd been doing. Since she was eleven, the nearly-innocent touches had changed in ways she hadn't understood for far too long, lingering and squeezing and roaming to other parts of her.</p><p>"Don't tell Dean," he always said. "He'll be jealous I love you more, and he'll hate you for it." Sam didn't think her brother <em>could</em> hate her, not really, but...</p><p>It was hard to deny, sometimes, that Dean was jealous of the attention she got. The perceived specialness of her being the baby, being the one who needed protecting, being the one who Dad seemed to want to spend more time with. <em>So what if</em>, an insidious little voice whispered in her mind, <em>he really would be jealous?</em></p><p>She didn't fight back because by the time it was happening, she'd already sat paralyzed through so much.</p><p>"You look just like your mother," he whispered in her ear after he came, sounding pleased.</p><p>He made sure she kept her hair dyed, after that.</p>
<hr/><p>"Not that it's not a relief to find out you're not as depressingly stuck up and squeaky clean as I thought," Dean commented once they were properly on their way, "but how'd this <em>happen</em>? You were <em>safe</em>, right, you know all those things you're supposed to do to avoid this?"</p><p>"Um," Sam said, shrinking further into her seat.</p><p>"'Cause y'know, I get it, shit's not 100% reliable and all that," Dean barrelled ahead, "but you also do <em>not</em> have time to be getting down on the regular, so that's some shit luck."</p><p>"There wasn't a condom," Sam whispered, and turned away from Dean so she could look out the window. "He..." she swallowed hard. "He didn't want to wear one."</p><p>"And you... <em>didn't</em> tell him to go to hell or get a rubber?" Dean asked. Sam could almost hear the way he'd lost his footing in the conversation, not understanding why she'd allowed that from what he must assume was someone from school. "I mean, c'mon, Sammy, it's not like you couldn't take any guy at that school of yours, probably with a hand tied behind your back."</p>
<hr/><p>She tried fighting back a couple of months before she turned fourteen, after he'd started isolating her from Dean and gotten into a huge fight with Uncle Bobby.</p><p>Dean had called with a question about the hunt he was on, and he took the call with his dick down Sam's throat. It was humiliating, but she didn't want to make even the smallest choking noise that might be picked up by the phone. She stayed still, if not pliant, until he hung up the phone, and then she pushed back against his thighs, freeing her mouth.</p><p>"I want to <em>stop</em>!" she said, gearing up to start a fight. If she had to get into a yelling match, so be it.</p><p>His eyes hardened, his hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck, and he pulled her to her feet. His grip was tight enough to restrict her breathing, but not enough to cut it of completely. Her fingers scrabbled at his hand, trying to pry him off.</p><p>"I'd be very careful how you misbehave, <em>Samantha</em>," he hissed, and all but threw her on the bed by the grip around her neck. "I am <em>kind</em> to you. <em>Gentle</em> with you. I take care of you, even after your mother <em>died</em> for you, and this is how you repay me?"</p><p>"I'm sorry," she wheezed.</p><p>"I don't want to punish you," he said, his grip never faltering. "And I would hate for your brother to find out what you've been doing. But if you act out like this, I won't have a choice."</p><p>"I won't," she gasped. "I won't."</p><p>He let a bit of his weight up, allowing more air into her lungs, and she clutched his wrist as he considered her sternly.</p><p>"I'll be good," she promised, desperately. "Please. I w-- I want it."</p><p>It seemed to be the right thing to say, as a soft smile broke out over his face. "There's my good girl," he said kindly, as he hiked her hips up and plunged into her in one abrupt motion. "Your mother would be so proud of you." He rolled his hips a couple of times, drawing little whimpers out of her despite herself.</p><p>She hated how he could make it almost feel good.</p><p>"However," he continued, his hand tightening around her throat, "Samantha, I think you need to be reminded who makes the rules in this family. If you misbehave, you get punished. But I'll go easy on you for apologizing."</p><p>When he finished and finally let go, she greedily sucked in breath after breath, and tried not to tremble as her vision stopped wavering out.</p><p>"You're a good girl, Samantha," he said, the pride in his voice making her feel pleased and nauseous all at once. "You just keep behaving yourself and we'll be okay."</p>
<hr/><p>"I just <em>didn't</em>, all right?" Sam snapped, hunching her shoulders and making herself into the smallest ball possible.</p><p>"Okay, okay," Dean said, clearly trying to placate her as he backed down from his question. "Just trying to get a feel for where you're at. Next time a guy tries to get out of it, you sock him into the sun, all right?"</p><p>"Yeah, sure," Sam lied agreeably. "Are we almost there?"</p><p>The clinic was clean, well-lit, and only had a couple protestors. Sam had almost asked Dean to just wait outside, but the thought of walking past even the three people with anti-abortion posters standing outside was almost overwhelming. Dean apparently could see her hesitation, because without even asking if she needed him to, he pulled into a parking space and got out, waiting for her so they could walk shoulder-to-shoulder into the building.</p><p>"Are you proud of yourself for sullying that sweet girl, young man?" one of the protestors asks indignantly. Sam curls in on herself and tries to ignore them.</p><p>"That's my baby sister, you fucking freak!" Dean snapped back. "Bitch," he added under his breath, one arm around Sam's shoulders as he propelled them inside.</p><p>Sam tried not to feel filthier. He was just defending himself, really. And he deserved to. <em>He'd</em> never hurt her like that.</p><p>"Right," Dean said as soon as they were inside. "So, uh. I'll just wait out here and read Cosmo or something while you... get stuff taken care of, I guess?"</p><p>"Yeah," Sam whispered, flashing him a tight, nervous smile. "Um. Might be a couple hours? They have to do tests and stuff, I think, and then... everything. You can go if you want, I'll call the motel from here."</p><p>"Excuse <em>you</em>, I want to sit here and read this... Home &amp; Garden," Dean protested, grabbing the first magazine he could reach. "So you go deal with your shit, and stop worrying about me." And, well, there was nothing that Sam could really say to argue that, because if she insisted he didn't <em>want</em> to read Home &amp; Garden or Cosmo or whatever, he'd just double down and get embarrassing about it, and in the end she felt better with him out here, anyway. If Dad got back (obscenely, impossibly) early, they'd at least be able to concoct a cover story if both of them were out.</p><p>And she wouldn't have to be alone waiting for Dean to get back after.</p><p>She checked in with a fake ID that said she was 18, and the receptionist smiled kindly at her and took her back to an examination room almost immediately. Sam glanced back at where Dean had settled in a chair and was determinedly reading Home &amp; Garden, took a deep breath, and followed.</p>
<hr/><p>The spring she turned sixteen, she had a horrifying realization.</p><p>"Saw you looking at college brochures," he growled into her ear as he fucked her. She whimpered, trying to ignore how good it felt, physically. She'd resigned herself a long time ago to taking physical pleasure from what he did to her, even when it made her sick. She could handle this. She'd <em>been</em> handling it for three years now.</p><p>"You've still got two years before you graduate, sweetheart," he said, picking up his pace. "You really think you're gonna graduate before you get knocked up?"</p><p>Sam felt like she'd been dunked in a tub of ice water, the fear washed over her so suddenly.</p><p>"Girl your age gets herself knocked up, she needs to rely on her family to get by," he growled, seeming pleased by the possibility. "Can't have you running off and getting my grandbaby taken away when you can't raise 'em on your own. And you think <em>Dean's</em> gonna disobey a direct order to leave you? You wouldn't have anyone to turn to, if you abandoned me."</p><p>He never wore a condom. She wasn't on birth control.</p><p>He came and filled her and all she could think was that he was right.</p><p>If she got pregnant, she'd never fucking escape. Without admitting what he'd done, something no one would believe anyway, there was no way she'd be able to get away. She'd be trapped here, being his perfect little recreation of her mother, even down to being the mother of his children, until the day he died.</p><p>"I love you, Sammy," he said, and pushed her down so she could lick him clean.</p>
<hr/><p>It took closer to three hours to get through everything, and to recover. She started crying when they said they were done, and couldn't explain why. The nurse assured her she didn't need to explain it, that even if she hadn't had a moment's hesitation before coming in, it was still an emotional experience, and she was allowed to grieve.</p><p>Sam didn't have the courage to say she was grieving another lost innocence entirely.</p><p>They kept her in a recovery room for an hour after the procedure, before checking that she had someone to take her home, making sure she had her aftercare instructions and her antibiotic, and sending her out to go home, blissfully not pregnant.</p><p>Dean looked up as soon as the door opened, and was on his feet as soon as he realized it was Sam coming out.</p><p>"Hey," he said immediately, putting his hands on her shoulders and searching her face for any signs of distress, clearly not fully reassured by the tension he saw there. "Everything go okay?"</p><p>"Yeah," she answered. "Just, uh. Cramps. They said it's normal for a few days after."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>." Dean immediately relaxed. <em>Girl stuff</em> wasn't as scary, apparently, as the idea of his little sister being emotionally distraught. Well, Sam couldn't really blame him for that. "Okay, well, why don't we swing by the store, get you some ice cream, I'll bust out the hot water bottle, you can curl up and tell all men to fuck off as is your right as a woman or whatever."</p><p>"Yeah, that sounds good," she agreed. "Um. Drop me off first? I kinda just want to lay down."</p><p>"Store's on the way. You wanna stay in the car or get all the way back?"</p><p>"Oh. Um, staying in the car's fine," she said, and curled up. She wasn't actually feeling cramps yet, the painkillers they'd given her still working to keep the discomfort at bay.</p><p>She apparently dozed off as they drove, because she found herself starting awake as Dean closed the door and held out a pint of Ben &amp; Jerry's and a plastic spoon.</p><p>"Here. Cherry Garcia, that's your favorite, right?"</p><p>"Yeah," Sam answered with a watery smile as they pulled out of the parking lot.</p><p>Dean loved her. Dean loved her, and knew what kind of ice cream she liked when she was upset or hormonal, and hadn't judged her for getting pregnant even though he thought it was because she hadn't been careful enough, and had promised he wouldn't tell Dad, and had waited for her.</p><p>He'd believe her. He'd believe her if she told him. He'd believe her and he'd keep her safe. He wouldn't abandon her, wouldn't be jealous of her, wouldn't be <em>any</em> of the things Dad had said he would be. He couldn't be. He was her big brother, and he loved her.</p><p>Not like Dad loved her, but like he was <em>supposed</em> to love her.</p><p>But what if...</p><p>"Sammy?" Dean's voice was rough and worried, and she could feel the car pull over to the side of the road. "Hey, Sammy, it's okay, what's wrong?"</p><p>Oh. She was crying. That would be enough to get Dean worried.</p><p>She opened her mouth to say it was fine, that the doctor said she'd probably be emotional, that it was just that he was nice and remembered what kind of ice cream she liked.</p><p>Instead, she blurted out, "It was Dad."</p><p>Dean frowned. "What was Dad?"</p><p>"The..." Oh. Oh no, now she had to say it, instead of just letting it bubble out without her control, and she wasn't sure if she could. She couldn't stand to see the look in his eye if he thought she was lying. Or, worse, believed her and thought she was... tainted.</p><p>"Sam?"</p><p>She cleared her throat and looked up at the roof of the car, silently begging her tears to stop. "The pregnancy. It. It was Dad."</p><p>She could feel Dean staring at her. She hoped in shocked horror, not in anything else.</p><p>"He-- He's been-- for more than <em>three years</em>," she said, quickly forcing out more words before Dean could tell her she's lying or fucked up or anything like that, the tears coming faster as she does. "He's been f-fucking me and keeping it secret and told me you wouldn't believe me a-and I was so <em>scared</em> but I couldn't-- I <em>couldn't</em>--"</p><p>"Woah, Sam. Sammy. Hey, look at me. Look at me, kid, come on."</p><p>She turned and saw his hands fluttering like he wanted to touch her but was worried about doing so. His expression had none of the disgust or hatred she'd been so terrified of, just worry and a little bit of nausea and fear.</p><p>"You with me?" he asked, and she nodded, breathing shakily. "Okay." He searched her face for a moment. "You know what you're saying, right? About Dad?"</p><p>Sam could feel her expression crumpling. "I'm not <em>lying</em>--" she started, and Dean shook his head frantically.</p><p>"No, I don't think you are. Sam, listen to me." He stared into her eyes with a wide-eyed, solemn expression. "I believe you that something's going on. Something <em>really</em> bad. You've never lied to me, not about important things like this, okay? Do you believe me when I say that?"</p><p>"Y-yeah," Sam breathed out, nodding.</p><p>"Okay," Dean said. "Good. Now, whatever's going on, it's hurting you, and I'm so sorry I didn't realize sooner. But that <em>doesn't sound like Dad</em>. I believe you, but I don't think it's <em>Dad</em>, if it's doing that to you."</p><p>Sam grimaced and looked away with a shrug. It could be true, technically. She didn't think it was, but... that would be nice, if the thing that had been fucking her since she was 13 and touching her since she was 11 wasn't really her dad. He would've been found out by now, but it was a nice thought.</p><p>"Do you trust me?" Dean asked quietly.</p><p>"Of course I do," Sam answered instinctively. She thought about it for a moment before deciding not to retract that ingrained reaction. She <em>did </em>trust Dean. He'd never given her a reason not to. Not for important things.</p><p>"Okay," Dean said, and - awkwardly - patted her hand lightly. "We're gonna figure this out. Just... trust me. I won't let you get hurt again, but you gotta trust me."</p><p>"I will," Sam assured him, still snotty and sniffling and trying to get herself under some kind of control. "I <em>do</em>. Thank you."</p><p>"You're my sister," Dean said with an awkward shrug, as he shifted the Impala back into gear and pulled back onto the road.</p>
<hr/><p>The worst part was when Sam felt like she deserved it.</p><p>It wasn't always. Intellectually she knew that it didn't matter the reason, the things he did to her were inappropriate and wrong. But... she'd been the reason her mom died. And he was the one in charge. He protected her and Dean. He fed and clothed them. He <em>raised</em> them, alone when he should've had Mom to help him. Didn't she owe him for that?</p><p>And it wasn't like it felt <em>bad</em> all the time.</p><p>"You're so beautiful," he whispered as he fucked her, and today Sam couldn't even dredge up the energy to be horrified. It felt good. He was looking out for her. He deserved to be able to take this.</p><p>"You're such a good girl, Sam," he murmured to her, and she moaned as his hands roamed her body. "So good for me. Just me, right, baby girl?"</p><p>"Just you, Daddy," she said, because she knew what he wanted her to say. "I only want you."</p><p>She wished that were a lie. But at this moment she was hormonal and horny and she knew what he was like and she <em>wanted it</em>, even though it was awful. This was <em>familiar</em> and that made it safe. It wasn't painful and that made it good.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, Daddy," she whined, grinding back into him, and he groaned and began to thrust harder and faster, which was exactly what she wanted.</p><p>"Fuck," he gasped, as he did so to her. "You're such a little slut, Sammy. You like being used, don't you?"</p><p>"Yes," she gasped as he gripped her hips tight and came, pressed flush against her as he filled her.</p><p>It was a lie.</p><p>It was the truth.</p><p>It was <em>complicated</em>. And that's why she could never tell anyone. Because what person would believe that a whore like her would ever <em>not</em> want what she was getting?</p>
<hr/><p>She trusted Dean. She trusted Dean when he said he would keep her safe. When Dad got back in the wee hours of the morning, Dean said he'd already told Sam she could stay home from school the next day, because she was having a particularly bad period.</p><p>"I'll keep an eye on her, Dad, no worries," Dean said lightly, and sat with Sam the whole day after her abortion, playing the attentive, concerned brother.</p><p>The next day, though, she needed to go back to school, so Dean let her go, with clear (to Sam, at least) reluctance. John glowered at the two of them, but didn't stop her.</p><p>Third period, she got called to the office. Family emergency, her father had come to pick her up. She smiled faintly at the office workers and left with him as he led her out. He let his hand rest on her upper thigh the whole way home, kneading her flesh absently as they drove back to the motel room, where Dean was <em>not</em> waiting, due to his own responsibilities, and his belief that Sam would be in school all day.</p><p>He didn't leave any marks, he never did, but he made sure she knew how angry he was that she'd been untouchable the day before. He showed it in the way he wrenched her head back by her hair, the way he fucked her rougher than usual, and the way he spoke to her.</p><p>"You liked having your brother hovering over you all day, didn't you?" he snarled. "You're such a little slut, I bet you wished <em>he'd</em> fuck you. I've seen how he looks at you. Can't leave you two alone or I'd come back to find you rutting like dogs."</p><p>It made her sick; both the thought of Dean doing this to her and the fact that she almost wanted it. It would be better than what John was doing, at least. Dean would be gentle. But Dean also wouldn't. Whatever John thought he saw wasn't true. </p><p>She couldn't believe it or she'd break. </p><p>He finished with her, eventually, and she fled with her backpack to the library until school was out, so Dean wouldn't know. He'd said he wouldn't let her get hurt again, and she knew he meant it. She didn't want him to feel like he failed for not foreseeing that she wouldn't even be safe at school.</p>
<hr/><p>It was nearly a week before it happened.</p><p>"Dean, got a salt-and-burn a couple towns over," John said when he came back into the motel room with dinner Friday night. "Eat up and roll out, I need you back here by Monday morning so we can go deal with that vampire nest when they're all in one place."</p><p>Sam froze up in the middle of working on an essay that was due on Monday. That was most of the weekend, if not all of it. Alone. With John. It wouldn't be the first time, but it was rare, and after everything...</p><p>Dean pursed his lips and nodded obediently. "Yeah, Dad, sure," he said, grabbing two burgers out of the bag when John put it down, then wandering over to where Sam was sitting on her bed to hand her one. "Here ya go, Sammy," he said, and met her eyes steadily.</p><p><em>I won't let you get hurt again,</em> she heard him say, <em>but you gotta trust me</em>.</p><p>"Thanks, Dean," she said with a small, forced smil<em>e</em>.</p><p>She trusted him. She trusted him. He wouldn't let her get hurt again. She ate her burger mechanically, and returned to her homework. Dean shoved some of his things in his duffel bag, ruffled her hair, said goodbye to John, and left. Sam listened to the familiar rumble of the Impala as it woke and then drove off, willing herself not to cry.</p><p>She trusted him. He wouldn't let John hurt her again. He'd promised, and she trusted him.</p><p>John didn't act right away. He never did, when he sent Dean off, in case Dean had forgotten something and came back, which had happened before. Sam kept working on her essay, blocking out the part of her that was terrified and trembling just like she always did, so she could function. Close to four years, now, of practice. She still had school, after all, and she had always wanted to get good enough grades she might be able to swing some scholarships for college, to get away no matter <em>what</em> John wanted her to do.</p><p>It was half an hour before John tried anything. He came and sat next to her on the bed, brushed her hair back from her neck and shoulder, and leaned in to kiss the place they met. It was a familiar gesture, one he seemed to enjoy.</p><p>What was less familiar, barely a breath after his lips touched her skin, was the way the door burst open with a crack, Dean striding into the room as it did with a shotgun aimed at John.</p><p>"Sammy, get behind me," Dean said firmly, and Sam dove away from John without hesitation, clambering off the bed and all but pressing herself against Dean's back.</p><p>"Dean," John started, but Dean pulled out a silver knife - <em>John's</em> silver knife, Sam noticed, and when did he snag that? - and tossed it on the bed.</p><p>"You know what I want you to do with that," Dean said, his voice low and even.</p><p>John sighed and complied, cutting his arm just deep enough to draw blood and prove he wasn't a shapeshifter or something.</p><p>"Dean," he tried again after he'd done it, "I don't know what you think is happening, but there's been a misunderstanding--"</p><p>"A <em>misunderstanding</em>?" Dean's voice cracked like a gunshot, and while John didn't flinch, it seemed a near thing. "When Sam's goddamn <em>terrified</em> of you and what you do to her?" He barked a laugh, completely unamused. "You sick <em>fuck</em>. Sammy, get your things."</p><p>Sam darted to where her empty duffel is waiting. She could ignore the books and homework on the bed, because she clearly wouldn't be around to turn in any of that work.</p><p>"<em>Samantha</em>," John snapped, and Sam froze instinctively. He only used that tone if he was on the verge of hurting her. "Sit <em>down</em>."</p><p>"Sammy, get. Your. <em>Things</em>," Dean repeated softly, never once looking away from John. Sam trembled, but forced herself to keep moving, and get what little was important to her. It wasn't much. She avoided her own clothes, mostly of the kind that <em>John</em> wanted her to wear. She grabbed instead a few of <em>Dean's</em> shirts, that he'd left behind when he left half an hour ago. An extra pair of jeans. Some pajamas. Books were most of what she grabbed, not that she had many, and she could tell that her duffel bag was still depressingly empty, but... well. At a certain point, there wasn't much she could do to grab to make her bag less awfully empty.</p><p>"Okay," she said breathlessly, from just behind Dean. "I've got everything I need."</p><p>"Good," Dean replied, and she believed him when he said it. "Car's about half a mile down the road if you turn right out of the parking lot. Keys are in my left jacket pocket."</p><p>Sam snaked her hand into Dean's pocket and drew the keys out, hesitating.</p><p>"Do you need me to--" she started.</p><p>"No," Dean said immediately. "Go to the car. I'll be right there."</p><p>Sam nodded, even though she knew Dean couldn't see her, turned on her heel, and fled the scene.</p><p>The car was exactly where Dean said it would be, and she clambered into the driver's side, locked the doors, and stuck the keys in the ignition. She fully believed that Dean would be the one to catch up to her, but she wasn't going to discount the possibility of John just outright killing Dean and coming back for her. She would've said it wasn't possible he'd do that, but when she was twelve she would've said it wasn't possible that her dad would be using her as a sex toy, essentially, so clearly her instincts weren't particularly trustworthy.</p><p>She sat, trembling and trying desperately to not feel too hopeful, in the front seat of the Impala for fifteen minutes before a knock shattered her breathless silence.</p><p>"Sammy," Dean's voice came through the door muffled but easily identifiable, "it's me. Let me in?" Sam unlocked the doors, then scrambled over to the passenger seat. Dean all but collapsed into the driver's side, tossing his shotgun into the backseat instead of stowing it in the trunk like usual.</p><p>"Are... are you okay?" Sam asked uncertainly. She didn't know what John could've done, but she wasn't discounting the fact that he might've found something to do to Dean anyway.</p><p>"He didn't hurt me," Dean answered, throwing the car into gear and pulling out. "Got him with one of my throwing knives, so he'd have to choose between chasing us down and keeping himself from bleeding out. Told him I'd put a bullet in his head if I ever saw him again. Ideally, he'll take the hint, but if he doesn't we should have a few hours at least until he's on our tail."</p><p>Dean's expression was iron, but Sam couldn't feel anything but desperate, wild relief.</p><p>"Thank you," she whispered, her held-back tears finally starting to fall, with a vengeance. "<em>Thank you</em>."</p><p>"You're my sister," Dean said, clearly a little unsure how to handle her gratitude. "Wasn't gonna let anything happen to you. Not when I knew you were in danger."</p><p>"Still," Sam insisted. "You... you <em>believed </em>me. I didn't..." she trailed off, and Dean glanced over to her briefly as he drove, as if he wasn't sure where she could possibly be going with this. "I didn't think anyone <em>would</em>," she said finally, looking down at her hands. "He said no one would. He said you wouldn't for <em>sure</em>. I knew he was lying out his ass, but I couldn't quite... <em>shake</em> it."</p><p>"Well, I do," Dean declared firmly. "I do believe you. And I won't let him anywhere near you ever again. I promise you, Sammy, he'll never so much as lay an <em>eye</em> on you again."</p><p>And as much as Sam knew he couldn't <em>actually</em> promise that realistically, she still felt safer knowing he was that dedicated to protecting her. She finally let herself cry, after <em>years</em> of holding herself back, sobbing into her knees, pulled up against her chest. It took almost twenty minutes for her to stop struggling for air against the force of her tears. She could hear Dean trying to say reassuring things that she couldn't quite process, but the sound of his voice helped steady her out.</p><p>"We'll get to Centerville in a few hours," Dean told her eventually, when she'd mostly stopped crying. "We'll get a motel room so we can sleep, find a new car, and we'll figure out our plan from there."</p><p>"A new car?" she asked uncertainly.</p><p>"Yeah. Not keeping <em>this</em> one." Dean's hands were too tight on the steering wheel, and Sam remembered how John had fucked her in the backseat when she was 13. How he'd given it to Dean as a gift on his 18th birthday. How they'd grown up in this car and everything.</p><p>Dad was embedded in every single inch of this car, for all Dean had poured his love into her for years. The knowledge they were going to ditch it as soon as they could manage it left her nearly boneless with relief.</p><p>"Okay," she agreed quietly, letting herself sink into the exhaustion that always seemed to linger behind her eyes. "Love you."</p><p>"Yeah, I love you too, brat," Dean said, fondness thick in his voice. Then he turned on the stereo, and Sam fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Led Zeppelin as they drove.</p>
<hr/><p>They stopped in Centerville and got a motel room. Dean crashed almost immediately, having been awake for far too long. Sam went into the bathroom with her knife and a bundle of clothes.</p><p>To start, she looked into the mirror and considered her long, bleached blonde hair. She'd touched it up just before she'd taken the pregnancy test, so there weren't any roots to speak of, but she couldn't stand the sight of it. Dying it brown could help, maybe, but it was still long and feminine and <em>grabbable</em>.</p><p>So she took a handful of hair in one hand, her knife in the other, and she cut it off. And then she did it again. And again. Until her hair was scattered in long clumps on the floor and her head was a patchy mess that was, at least, no more than an inch at the longest. It looked awful.</p><p>She loved it, if only for the fact that it was <em>not</em> the long pretty locks that John had preferred on her.</p><p>After a shower (and so, <em>so</em> much scrubbing), she pulled on the clothes she'd grabbed. A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt of Dean's, and a zip-up hoodie, also Dean's. The person looking back from the mirror wasn't John Winchester's pretty little girl anymore, and it was a goddamned relief.</p><p>She collapsed in the bed next to Dean, ignoring the second bed he'd made sure to get, and fell asleep secure in the knowledge that he would keep her safe.</p>
<hr/><p>"I think we should tell someone," Dean said, staring resolutely out the windshield of the stolen junker they were driving, his focus on the road stretching out in front of them. Sam pulled in on herself and didn't answer right away. "Just... one person, no details," Dean continued. "'Cause if I were a perverted sack of shit with a brand new knife wound, I'd come up with some kind of story about a shapeshifter or something that <em>looked</em> like my kid, who'd gone nuts and attacked me and taken off with my <em>other</em> kid. And he's burned a lot of bridges, but not all of 'em. He could get some firepower behind him, people who'd be willing to take me out and get you back to him because they <em>thought </em>they were doing the right thing."</p><p>"Maybe," Sam whispered hesitantly. The idea of telling anyone else made her sick to her stomach, but Dean had a very good point. If some hunters took out Dean and dragged her back to John, she would kill herself. She really would.</p><p>"I was thinking Uncle Bobby," Dean continued. "He's got more connections than our dad, and I think he'd probably believe us. And we're close, we could make it in less than a day."</p><p>Sam chewed her lip, rubbing the unevenly chopped-off hair under the hood of the sweatshirt she'd stolen from Dean. On the one hand, telling <em>anyone</em> was terrifying, especially since there was a chance they wouldn't believe her. On the other... Dean was right. Uncle Bobby knew so many people, could vouch for Dean protecting Sam, for John being a monster. If he believed them. If he believed <em>her</em>.</p><p>They hadn't seen Uncle Bobby since just after John had started fucking her. She hadn't really thought about it before, but Sam wondered if they hadn't stopped talking to him because John had been afraid Bobby would see. That Bobby would figure it out.</p><p>That seemed like a good enough reason to <em>try</em>.</p><p>"Yeah," she said, willing her voice to be steady. "Yeah, we can... we can tell Uncle Bobby. In case Dad decides to do anything stupid."</p><p>"Okay," Dean said, letting out what sounded very much like a sigh of relief. "We'll get to Uncle Bobby's, and make plans from there."</p>
<hr/><p>They knocked on Bobby's door at five in the morning, Dean looking exhausted and murderous, Sam looking exhausted and like she was trying to disappear into the oversized sweatshirt she was hiding in.</p><p>Bobby opened the door looking ready to shoot anyone who was bothering him this early, but his scowl melted into a concerned frown as soon as he took in the two Winchesters on his doorstep.</p><p>"...Dean? <em>Sam</em>? What are you kids doing here? Where's your dad?"</p><p>Dean's face hardened, and Sam pulled further into her hoodie.</p><p>"Yeah, about that," Dean said, jaw tight. "We need to talk to you. Can we come in?"</p><p>Bobby hesitated, and Sam's breath caught in her chest, wondering if Bobby would send them away because of the fight he and John had gotten into years ago, the reason they hadn't <em>seen</em> Bobby again since then. But then Bobby sighed, and stepped back, holding the door open for them.</p><p>"Yeah, c'mon in. I'll get some coffee started."</p><p>They hadn't told him yet, but Sam already knew they'd be okay. Bobby was gonna listen to them, to <em>her</em>, and he'd help keep them safe from John, should he come after them.</p><p>She smiled weakly at Bobby as she passed him.</p><p>She was safe now, Dean had said. Things were gonna be okay. Somehow, stepping into Bobby Singer's house, she finally fully believed it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>many thanks to my beautiful wife Birdie and our fabulous handsome partner Jack for their support and love and cheering. I wouldn't be the person I am without either of you.</p><p>If you've read all the way to here and are somehow feeling hateful and cruel, please remember that this is not reality and I do not condone the hurtful things that were perpetuated by John before you leave me hate here or elsewhere.</p><p>And, because I'm not ashamed of writing dark shit and I want to create a world where more people feel safe and comfortable owning their darker/dead dove shit, please feel free to contact me if you want to chat about this or anything else:</p><p>tumblr: <a href="http://bygodstillam.tumblr.com">bygodstillam</a><br/>discord: ruffboi#9097</p><p>Stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask. I love you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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